The Seven Year Itch
by bugsfic
Summary: Home is where the heart is.


_Set directly after I Want to Believe._

_Contains explicit sexual situations_

* * *

Home at last, wrestling with keys, too heavy purse and the windblown door, holding her breath, not sure if she's ready for another "Let's talk" moment. The other option was not talking-like sex fixes anything but somehow it seemed like a better option right now.

Naturally, dread and anticipation meant that neither happened; the house was empty.

A note stuck askew to Mulder's office door.

_Gone to Dakota Whitney's funeral. Be back later._

It was already six at night and dusk had fallen. With no car, how did he get to D.C.; how would he get back? She pushed aside the anxiety and tugged the note loose from the tack. He'd managed to chase UFO's, wrestle beast women, and discover alien-Kindred in honeycombs without losing more than a few brain cells and a year or two of his life. Surely he could hitchhike to and from a FBI agent's last rites in one piece, even though he was out of practice.

Toeing out of her shoes and shedding her damp coat, she settled in for a long wait. She was out of practice too, but anxiety flooded her veins and giving her a slightly seasick sensation.

Fear, anger...Guilt. There were the familiar old acquaintances onto which she could grasp for purchase. And then the dead woman's name scrawled in his familiar handwriting reminded her of another one. The flash of jealousy as that pretty young woman had touched Mulder's face. The astonishment in his eyes had only fueled Scully's discord. Had he been isolated for so long that he'd forgotten that women found him attractive? Of all the things that Scully had seen and felt in the past week, that hot emotion were the most shocking in a way. The once automatic reactions when another woman came around Mulder had been slumbering for eight years but were now reawakened.

Scully mounted the dimly lit stairs. Dakota was dead and yet she was still picking at that scab. How ordinary of her-how middle-aged housewife, only without being a wife. Her discontent weighed her down, making her light footfall sound loud in the empty space.

Every since they'd moved into this house, Mulder had always been here. Perhaps out in the yard working, or jogging down the empty dirt roads, but he was always back to her side within the hour. The rooms never echoed with her heartbeat.

In the bedroom, she discovered that he'd made the bed with his usual slapdash manner; the duvet tossed over the mattress but not smoothed. Scully did it now. She'd actually loosened up her housekeeping standards over the years. With her long shifts at the hospital, it was impossible to maintain the level of her expectations, particularly when there was someone else at home piling up magazines, using the toilet and utilizing every pot and pan in the kitchen to make spaghetti. The shambling disarray had become home to her, because it meant Mulder was there.

Shedding her crumpled clothes that she'd first put on before leaving for Christian's surgery, she took a quick scalding shower and pulled on a loose sweater and baggy exercise pants, then slipped into a pair of Mulder's thick wool socks, the heels going half way up her achilles tendons. His just felt warmer than hers.

Padding back downstairs, she decided music would help drive the heavy silence from the house. Flipping through the CD's, she finally chose a selection of Monica's recommendation from years ago and loaded them in the tray. A variety of voices from hot, moist climates to drive away the freezing night. The first song started and Aaron Neville's ethereal voice, with rain washing down the windows as he sang about a coming storm, seemed appropriate.

She was making her way through the dim living room to the kitchen when the front door opened and she started. Seven years ago she would have automatically reached for her weapon but Doctor Scully just gave a girlie gasp.

Mulder was dripping rain from walking up the long drive.

"How did you get there? How did you get back? Are you cold? You're wet."

She had intended to play it cool but found herself babbling and plucking at his drenched coat.

His face lit up, the cheeks still pale and bright newly shaved skin. "Walter picked me up. Another agent gave me a ride back. She lives out this way." He bent down to put some bags by the door.

"She does? Seems like a bit of a commute to the Capital." Scully stepped back and leaned on the heavy dining room table-it had come with the house, as rooted to the oak floors like an old tree itself.

He didn't read her body language. "She's in the Richmond field office." He shed his coat and draped it over the chair closest to Scully. He loosened his tie, and for some reason, she found herself reaching out and stopping him from removing it.

"Keep it on."

She swept off his suit jacket and put it on another chair, but stroked the fine cotton of his shirtsleeve. "Keep it on," she murmured again.

He started to protest and then a slow smile came on his face. It was shy and sweet and made her heart squeeze tight. He would be her G-man for the evening.

Nudging him with her elbow, she said, "I'll start on dinner. you take your wet shoes off and build a fire."

"I brought food from the city." He hurried back to the door and when he lifted the bag, she caught a waft of spices, another long-forgotten memory. Ethiopian food from Fasil's; late nights after cases, when they were both too wired to go to their separate homes and so sick of middle America diner food that they had to burn the meatloaf grease and ketchup off their tongues with cumin and berbere.

"Fox Mulder, I love you," she announced and now his smile was a grin.

He held up a second bag. "And I brought Egyptian beer."

"Forever and ever."

She hugged him tight around the middle and inhaled the food smells again.

"Save that enthusiasm for later," he murmured into her still damp hair.

She headed to the kitchen. Leaning back through the doorway, she told him: "Make us a roaring fire. We'll eat on the floor like we're at Fasil's." After gathering plates and cutlery, she joined him by the couch and coffee table, now lit warm orange by the fire.

He'd stripped off his socks and was wiggling his bare toes at the flames. She felt his damp feet. "Let me give you your socks-"

He rubbed her back as she knelt beside him. "I'm good. Keep them."

"Mulder, your feet are ice-" She stripped one sock off.

"No," he said firmly. "Put that back on." He stretched his long feet closer to the hearth. "They're going to heat right up."

After pausing for a moment with the sock hanging from her slack hand, she complied. She began to open the foam containers of food onto the coffee table, each one smelling more delicious than the next, but watching him out of the corner of her eye. Dark blue dress shirt, dull deep gray tie, charcoal dress pants, the bottom of the legs stained with mud and water. She didn't tell him to take those off.

But she did feel underdressed. She sincerely doubted that he had many twinges of desire the few times he'd ever observed her in ratty sweats Before.

_Before._ In her mind, it was always capitalized.

She hadn't even finished opening all the containers and he'd snagged a hunk of stewed beef with a corner of the injera bread.

"Hana remembered you. Asked if you were waiting at home. I told her yes."

Scully paused the hand that was going to slap his away from the stack of still warm injera. Instead, she lay her head on his shoulder. She felt in a very odd mood tonight.

"How's Christian doing? if you're home, hopefully that means the procedure went well?"

"Yes," she told him simply. That was another darkness that could stay away for the night.

Picking up her own bite with a piece of the spongy bread, she asked, "You were gone all day. Was there a wake after the funeral?" and shoved the food quickly into her mouth before the sauce could drip.

"No," he admitted, then gulped from his beer. "They invited me back to the Bureau."

She dabbed her lips with a napkin, waiting.

He turned to face her, his eyes alive again, as his features had been earlier. A certain light...that both made her heart jump and lurch; not a comfortable feeling to have while eating.

"They presented me with my back pay."

She collapsed against the sofa, relieved. Count on bureaucrats...

"You hadn't taken my death benefits, Scully," he scolded. "I wasn't in any shape to notice at the time, but you know that's what I wanted-"

"Good thing I didn't when we dug you up," she pointed out and sipped from her beer bottle. "Would have had to pay it back."

"Or dependent's benefits after I was left-"

She could see he was serious about this. "We were fine, Mulder," she said stiffly.

He rolled over on his hip and fiddled in the back pocket, removing a new wallet. He hadn't bothered with one for years.

"The check..." he showed her the stub and her eyebrows rose. "Yep, that's with interest," he said with satisfaction.

"I got a new social security card, then headed straight to Craddock's to reopen my account, and on to the DMV and got my license."

Despite her head spinning, Scully said encouragingly: "That's good. The insurance company asked about your license-"

He winced. "A bit too late. I'll replace your car and get my own." That glow again on his face. "An SUV. You should be driving something safe; not some sedan on these back roads." The bossy tone was back and she wasn't sure that she liked it.

It had always been her car. He'd come with her to buy the first one after they'd settled in Virginia and the salesman had been so obnoxious because Mulder was deferring to her that he hadn't come the second time-that car was only a year old, she remembered with a sigh. This was going to be a monster insurance hit; good thing he had all that money.

"Sure that you don't want to carpool with the agent from the Richmond office?" She took another sip of her beer.

Clueless, he shook his head. "Bailey was only in D.C. for the day to do some training."

_Dakota, Bailey...When did women old enough to be field agents start having names like this? _

"I'm sure," she said, hearing the bite in her words.

"She was excited to meet me though," he said a bit sadly. "Did you know I'm in the textbooks now?"

Scully hid her smile behind a mouthful of food.

"Not for the X-files, of course. For my profiles. Our work seems to have been wiped from any recorded history-"

She watched the fire consume the logs slowly and inevitably. "I'm not surprised." Finding his hand without looking for it, she gave his fingers a squeeze. "So..." she said leadingly. "Giving you a check wouldn't take hours either..."

He ducked his head. "The Violent Crimes chief wanted to talk to me. It's Vince Crabtree; remember him?"

Here it came. Among the to-go debris, she found a wet wipe and began cleaning her hands of the pungent spices' residue.

"They want to hire me as a consultant. As a contractor; not go back to the Bureau," he assured her in a rush.

She nodded slowly. "Of course. You're too valuable of a resource for them to allow you to be wasted out here."

He shrugged. "I don't know about that. Drummy was there and wasn't pleased. I got his partner killed-"

She started to protest, but he only gave her another shy smile. "I think he'd much rather have you come back."

Sadly, she shook her head. He nodded in reply.

"When do you start?" She fumbled in the dim light for her beer, clutching at the damp bottle.

"I didn't say yes-"

She whirled to face him and slammed down her drink. "Mulder!"

"I told them that I had to check with my partner."

"Oh Mulder." She sighed. "Crabtree isn't going to think much of that. He's old school-"

"Well, tough. It's the truth."

"You told them that you had to check with the little woman?"

"My partner," he corrected.

"They're going to think you're pussy whipped!"

His slow gaze traveled over her lounging figure. Despite the thick sweater and baggy sweatpants, a flush followed his look's path. Perhaps he ihad/i thought about her that way Before when he had caught her in schlub mode.

"I'll live with that," he drawled.

"If you're going to do this, you want to start off on the right foot, that's all," blustered Scully.

He shrugged, unconcerned. She toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. "I suppose you'll go to a real barber now; my services are no longer required. Get a short cut-"

"You like it longer?" He found her loose ponytail behind her shoulder and twisted it around his fingers. "I like your hair longer too."

The old Her, in armor of dark suits and a shellacked helmet of short hair. She didn't want to go back to that, but if need be, she'd accept his prickly cropped hair. Patting his head absent-mindedly, she sipped the dregs of her beer.

Wiping his own fingers clean, he rooted in the pocket of his suit jacket hanging from the chair. "I got my own phone too. I've put your number in it, and Crabtree's, and Skinner's..." He wound down.

Dakota Whitney had demanded to know his cell phone number after being forced to contact him on Scully's phone late at night.

"I don't have one. Just keep calling me on Scully's number," Mulder had told her with a vague smile. The younger woman's gaze had shifted to Scully, standing with folded arms and one eyebrow stuck in its upright and arched position.

"That won't be particularly convenient, since Doctor Scully will be working," Dakota had pointed out. "We'll have a phone issued to you, programmed with the task forces' numbers."

He'd added Scully's number to the little flip phone as soon as he had it, but it didn't make her pick up any faster when she saw "FBI Generic Incoming" on her caller ID.

She should have realized having that warm device in his hand again was like a crack pipe to an addict. He had to take another hit.

"It's a Blackberry," he said, lovingly scrolling through features on the phone. "I can get on the Internet, send faxes-"

"Send faxes?"

He ignored her. "I'm thinking about investing in their stock. This company's products are the wave of the future."

Investing in stock? Had a shapeshifter taken Mulder's place while he was gone?

Scully began to gather up the flotsam of their feast, shoving it in the plastic bags. "Sounds like you have everything that you need to get back to work."

"It's still up to you-"

She paused and pinned him with her level gaze. "Don't put it on me, Mulder."

"And don't put it on me," he replied, just as tough. "We're still a team, even if it's not mandated by the Bureau."

She sidestepped for the moment. "I can't believe they've just wiped the X-files out of FBI history. I think you should write that book, Mulder. Tell your story."

"Our story," he corrected her again. "And if I do take this consulting job, I can't do anything to jeopardize my security clearance." He settled back against the couch and popped open another beer. "Not going to be your boy toy any longer."

Putting aside the bags, she looked at him with astonishment. "Boy toy; is that what you've been?" It had never occurred to her that he'd felt like a kept man, of all things.

"Your own Kato Kaelin then."

She decided to let it slide too. "If you're going to be a member of society again, you must update your cultural references. Kaelin? Boy toys?"

"Fine. Here's one that I heard in a song on the drive home. The song played four times in two hours, so it must be popular."

"I'm waiting with bated breath." Turning to face him, she propped her head on her hand.

"If you like it then you should have put a ring on it."

"That's that supposed to mean?" Her breath wasn't bated; it was gone.

"Put a ring on it, Scully," he repeated.

He nudged her foot with his toes and when she glanced at him from under her lashes, he was propped against the couch, long and lean, doing his best male model look. It was a bit worn these days, but still worked.

"I mean, if I'm going to be surrounded by all those agents and students at Quantico without you there to warn them off, I think I should have some sort of no trespassing sign on, don't you?"

Anger and embarrassment passed in a flash to be replaced by rueful laughter. He knew her too well but just chose his moments to point it out.

"I hate to tell you, but wedding rings will still attract some women-"

As soon as she said that, she regretted it. She covered by wiping her hands again, her head dipped out of view.

When she recovered, she pinned him with her level gaze, deciding to call his bluff. "Maybe you should have brought a ring then." Her frank statement was tempered a bit by her playing with the loose bottle cap collection on the coffee table top.

"Just like the job offer; I wanted to check with you first." He drained his beer bottle. "If I've learned anything in fifteen years, it's to assume there will be a heated discussion over everything."

He fished into his suit pocket once more and pulled out plane tickets in a paper sleeve. He lay them on the table beside her, giving them a little shove. "But I did get these."

"Those better not be tickets to Chaney, Texas." She lifted the top of sleeve and peered inside.

Popping the top off another bottle, he grinned. "A bit south."

"Belize," she said slowly.

"Yeah. That chance to just get away, get warm before I start to work. Or...A honeymoon." He shrugged.

"This is a lot to think about, Mulder," she said slowly. "A lot. A lot," she found herself repeating.

"I know. We don't have to make any decisions this instant. Let's sleep on it," he suggested. But the light in his eyes said that he wasn't thinking about sleep.

"Sleep," she repeated, leaning over to kiss him. It had been years since they'd been frantic but that was all right. She knew exactly the way he'd tilt his head, just the amount of pressure of his lips on hers, how deep his tongue would slide on the first pass...And that intimate knowledge made her body flood with heat, turning instantly liquid. She melted into him, her fists filling with starched cotton-that was new, or at least it had been a very long time since she'd wrestled his tie loose, plucked small buttons free from their holes, tugged the tails from his pants.

His groans into her mouth told her that he'd missed this as well. "Scully," had that same wonder as the very first time she'd pulled him down atop her on her old couch and it brought tears to her eyes.

His large hands circled under her loose sweater, tickling at her ribs. His thumbs stroked the edge of her breasts and she realized that he was replicating that first time...That first time he'd been too afraid to be too aggressive, and she'd had to shift and press her breast into his palm. She did it again and he chuckled, breaking their kiss.

Why not? Why not start over yet again? Try things a little differently this time...

He started to rise, intending to lead them upstairs. That's what established couples did; not frantic grappling on the floor, but she wanted to meet somewhere in the middle.

"Nu-uh," she mumbled, her mouth latched at the ridge of his collarbone revealed by his open shirt. Grabbing his belt, she tugged him back to the couch, pushing him into its depths. Crawling into his lap, she tossed off her sweater over her head and any argument he may have had instantly disappeared from the green swirl of his gaze.

He gave her that sloppy smile that satisfied her deeply. Bare chested women-this woman-seemed to do that to him. Rather a nice strategy to keep in her back pocket-the instant pause button for his insistent chatter and exhausting overthinking. He filled his palms with her ass and drew her snug against him and she was struck dumb as well. It always amused her that two very intelligent people turned into simple, base creatures when hips met hips.

Grinding down on him, she returned to kissing him, following the bass thump of the Southern blues still drifting from the stereo. Because it was truly an enjoyable activity. She knew that at this point in their relationship, they were supposed to just get down to business and be watching Dave Letterman ten minutes later without even breaking a sweat, but dammit, she got too much pleasure from basic foreplay.

Mulder seemed to as well. He toyed with her nipples, nibbled at her jaw, lazily thrust up against her still thickly clothed crotch but appeared perfectly content, if his dazed expression and ruffled hair was an indication. That hair...She tugged at it again, missing it already. His barely stubbled cheeks felt odd though, as though she was making love to a familiar stranger...Which had its own appeal.

"Scully, you know I love you..."

What an odd thing for him to say- She pulled back and stared down at him, befuddled.

"Yeah," she said carefully.

"Just that."

"Okay." She nestled against his chest, swaying in his arms. His thumb lazily circled her breast and his lips traced her hairline.

"This is nice," he murmured.

"Nice?" She gazed up, giving him an eyebrow.

He didn't relent. "Very nice," he qualified, but that was all.

Sweeping her up in his arms, he drew her chest to his mouth, and she was lost. The dying fire cast orange shadows up the walls, coiling and writhing as she was in his touch. He pulled her sweatpants and panties down in one motion and sought the smouldering heat between her legs.

She sank onto his fingers, causing him to release her breast with a gasp. She grinned, suddenly giddy. She loved the element of surprise. Swiveling her hips, she made him pant her name.

But too much of his skin was still covered. She wrestled his shirt open and thankfully he had no undershirt on. Getting to his pants meant that she's have to move away from his touch, but it was worth it.

Staggering off him, she attacked his belt buckle, her usually nimble fingers fumbling.

"I need to go away more often," he observed as he lifted his hips so she could pull his pants and boxers down.

Ignoring his smart comments, she stepped out of her remaining clothes still tangled at her ankles.

He continued to tease her. "Doctor Scully, I have a few questions for you." Combing her hair back over her shoulders, he welcomed her back onto his lap.

"Shut up, Mulder-" She bit his neck, finding a tiny spot where he'd missed shaving off his beard, and tugged at the short hair with her teeth.

He kept going. "Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrial beings?" he gasped as she fastened onto one of his flat nipples next.

Peering up at him from behind her curtain of hair, she gave him a cold glare. "Are you going to try that on another crop of fresh agents?"

His hands were sliding along her bare back, his thumb tickling down her spine. "I'll save my alien probing just for you," he promised.

There was only one way to shut him up, she realized. She stood, and his face went still, his gaze wary. Her smile was wicked.

She turned her back to him and he exhaled; a sad sound. Taking one step backward, she waited. Hands spanned her flanks, drawing her to him.

"Scully-"

She remained silent. He was Fox Mulder, her partner, and it was wrong to think of him this way-The basement office could feel so small sometimes, two bodies circling too close, rubbing against each other as they passed, he going for a file, she to refill her coffee cup...

The couch frame groaned as he shifted forward. His lips were on her right shoulder, his tongue's tip finding the edges of the blade. His thumbs rode her spine downward again until they found the crease of her buttocks. Gliding further down, he widened her stance and brought her to slide down his full length, setting on his thighs.

Her sigh was loud in the dark room, crackling like the logs in the fire.. Her legs tightened around his, holding her close and keeping him from thrusting. But her feet couldn't touch the floor-she'd gone from dominator to a collector's specimen pinned to the board, wings outstretched...

Lolling back against his chest, she released another deep sigh, this time closer to a moan. She was in his hands now...Hands on her swollen breasts, hands traveling from their joining to her face, tracing her lips, letting her bite them, tugging at her earlobe, flicking her nipples, molding her hips tight against his gently rolling thrusts. Tilting his pelvis brought a deep pressure that caused sparks to light up her dimmed vision.

"Age...Agent Mulder...What was that question again?" she managed to pant.

"I'll need to check my notes." He sounded as desperate as she felt, but for the briefest moment, she remembered coming across a small notepad in his desk drawer after he was gone, with things like _Sc like yogurt. Get tea for apart. New sheets_ on the pages.

Her laugh rose to a litany of near-shouted promises and gratitude when he bit the taut tendon at her neck and his hands worked her body. She shimmied and bucked on him-the chrysalis cracked and her wings fought air for flight; she was free again.

Yet another sigh as she sank back down, molten once more. He was licking sweat from her jaw, his touch gentle on her sensitive breasts. He was still hard and deep inside her.

"Mulder, if you're going to be working cases again, you must improve your solve rate," she said with her most business-like tone.

"Hey, I did my job," he said, sounding drunk.

"I would beg to differ." By some miracle, she managed to stand, only to collapse on the other end of the couch.

Concerned, he looked at her, but appearing utterly ridiculous, open shirt with cuffs still buttoned, pants and boxers at ankles.

She nestled back into the pillow and let her thighs fall open. "Well, Agent Mulder?"

He was on her with a grunt, somehow managing to shake off his pants but didn't deal with that silly shirt. She curled up with her knees tight to her chest, offering him only one target. He sank back into her with a long groan of his own, pinning her limbs. They rocked together for a few strokes and she was just thinking, this is very nice, when he put a foot on the floor and started to pound their bodies together.

She remembered when it was like this. He was terrified that she'd come to her senses any minute and send him home; she'd be overwhelmed by anxiety that he would just be gone, period. And then he disappeared and his return only made her even more frantic during sex. It had taken a very long time to get over that and now it was all back, a wave washing over her head, pressing her beneath the water. She came again like a drowning woman gasping for life, declaring her love with her dying breath.

"Yes," growled Mulder and she knew it wasn't triumph at his completion coiling deep within her, but that he saw his own fear reflected in her eyes, that mirror bright as a new day. He fell on her suddenly loose body and she wrapped her arms around him, pushing her hands under the soaked shirt.

"Now we can go upstairs," she announced.

"Give me a minute," he gasped.

"You're getting old, Mulder," she chided.

"You're sounding out of breath yourself, Doctor," he pointed out, his damp nose poking at her throat like a snuffling puppy.

She harrumphed into his tousled hair.

The fire collapsed, only a few cherry-red embers remaining. The room chilled.

"Mulder," she murmured.

"Okay, okay," he moaned, then struggled up after disentangling their limbs. He helped her to her feet, and she swayed against him before finding her balance.

"Leave it," she told him when he tried to pick up the destruction of their clothing. He raised his eyebrows in surprise, but linked his fingers with hers to take the stairs naked to their bedroom.

"Shower," she suggested and he agreed.

It was a tight fit, but they only needed to wash their still flushed skin and dry it briskly. Nude, they wandered into the dark bedroom. Her limbs had the langid looseness of great sex...She sashayed with the tempo of a well-satisfied woman.

He spoke her thoughts smugly. "We still got it," he said, flipping back the duvet. But his knees cracked loudly as he crawled into bed.

"You keep telling yourself that," she said dryly as she joined him under the covers, seeking out his warmth in the chilly room. Even as she nestled her head on his bare chest, her thoughts turned to the strong and bright young agent that he'd watch be buried today. "You'll be careful, won't you, Mulder?"

Curling his arm around her head, he smoothed back the damp hairs at her temples with a fingertip. "When have I not taken care of myself?"

She just sighed.

"So that's a yes?"

"Yes, Mulder. That's a yes."

There was a long silence but she could tell that he wasn't falling asleep.

Carefully, he asked, "To which question?"

She only laughed. "Yes," she said simply, finding her home under his chin.

~End


End file.
